


so we messed around and blasphemed a bit

by proximally



Series: abandoned works [7]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Consensual Graverobbing, Gen, POV Third Person, Skeleton Chara (Undertale), this is very silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:12:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27150926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/proximally/pseuds/proximally
Summary: Asriel is contemplating life, the universe, and everything, awaiting his inevitable transformation.Frisk turns up with a shovel.
Relationships: Chara & Asriel Dreemurr & Frisk
Series: abandoned works [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1981928
Kudos: 15
Collections: Good Intentions: Abandoned and Unfinished WIPs





	so we messed around and blasphemed a bit

**Author's Note:**

> title from the lyrics of (Don't) Stay Null by The Garages. blaseball good.
> 
> originally written july 2016.
> 
> if you'd like to take the concept and run with it, please feel free! i'd really appreciate this being linked back to though.

Sunlight, faint from its long journey, warms him gently through his fur. Ancient pillars - old even before he was born - stretch towards a distant ceiling, as if trying to reach the surface world; some have crumbled, felled by time, and their rubble litters the edges of the cavern. It’s safe enough, though; what is left has survived centuries, and will likely hang on for many more. There’s no sound down here save for his own breathing and the slight draught from above that rustles the bed of golden flowers before him. 

It’s peaceful. As a grave should be.

He likes to think they would have approved of this, as their final resting place. The sunshine and the flowers are reminders of the world they came from, a world he only too late realised they hated more than anything else, but he imagines that any negative connotations would be tempered by the location. This is where they fell; this is where they decided to give life a second chance. It is only right that they should be buried here, where it all began, and not in some gloomy basement beneath where it all ended.

There comes a shuffling sound from behind him, and he whirls to face the intruder. 

It’s Frisk. He knew it probably would be; they don’t give up on anything, so how could he expect them to give up on him? He starts to ask them why they bothered - there’s no point! - but the words die in his throat as they walk straight past him, a harried smile on their face.

...what?

_Kshik._

Asriel turns again, and finally registers that Frisk has in their hands a garden spade and just planted it _in his sibling’s grave_.

He makes a dive for them, but dodging is their greatest skill and he just ends up with a mouthful of dirt.

“What are you _doing?!”_ He yells, grabbing for their ankles; they just step over his flailing arms and their shovel takes another bite out of the flowerbed.

“Shh,” they tell him, sidestepping another swipe at their legs. They’re not really one for talking. 

Another scoop of earth. “Stop!” Paws make contact with ankles, and they’re swept off their feet. Immediately he sets about immobilising them, and sits on their legs. They scowl, but don’t reach for the spade; violence is not the answer. “What are you doing?!” He demands again.

“Helping,” is all they have to say. All they _can_ say, maybe; they’d fallen face-first into the excavated dirt.

“How is this _helping_ anything?!”

They huff, and cup their free hand to their ear, then point at the grave. Asriel frowns, but complies: he listens. And, much to his surprise, there is something to listen _to_ \- beyond his and Frisk’s heavy breathing, beyond the rustling of plants. A faint, repetitive _thump-thump-thump_ , like someone distantly banging on a door. A chill runs through him.

“W-what _is_ that?”

Frisk just smiles and takes advantage of his distraction to free their legs; they grab their shovel and set about destroying the flowerbed again. Asriel just sits there for a moment, dumbfounded, trying to process what he is starting to believe may be the truth and not having much luck with it.

He’s still more or less paralysed by his train of thought ten minutes later when there’s a hearty _clunk_ as Frisk’s shovel hits something more solid than soil. After a second, there’s an answering thunk, and their grin widens beyond anything Asriel has seen from them before. They lift the shovel up high, and before he can even think about stopping them they’ve brought it down with as much force as an eleven-year-old can muster. They immediately lift it again, expecting to need a second go, but rotten wood is not that hard to break.

A hand, bony and white, pokes through the hole in the casket. It gives Frisk a thumbs-up, then grasps the splintered wood and _pulls._ An almighty cracking sound echoes through the cavern, and the skeletal hand offers Frisk the resulting splintered mess before returning to its task. The human puts the chunk of decayed coffin aside and watches carefully as the hand works. 

Frisk has amassed a small pile of broken wood when they crouch down and offer their own hand to the hole. The first skeleton hand grasps it firmly, while another one snakes out to grab the edge, and the creature, with Frisk’s help, pulls itself out of the grave.

It is, obviously, a skeleton. A somewhat embarrassed-looking skeleton the same size and shape as Frisk, who is currently rummaging through a backpack Asriel hadn’t seen them bring. They make a triumphant noise, and hand the small skeleton a very familiar set of clothes, which they quickly put on. 

Flat-palmed, the skeleton’s hand moves from their jaw outward in Frisk’s direction: it takes him a moment, but Asriel recognises it as _thank you_. The other human’s face lights up in response, and they crush the skeleton in a hug; much to the watching boss monster’s surprise, the skeleton wastes little time before returning it.

“...Chara?” he asks. He’d been so sure it was them, but...since when did they ever say thank you? Since when did they let themself be hugged like that - and reciprocate? 

The skeleton freezes; Frisk releases them. They turn slowly to face him, and though skeletal faces can be hard to read, he can see the guilt and the anxiety in their posture. They curl their hand into a fist and rub it in a clockwise motion over where their heart should’ve been, over and over - _I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry._ Their legs tremble, and they sink to their knees, still weakly signing apologies; Frisk places a concerned hand on their shoulder, but gets no reaction. They frown and beckon Asriel forward, and when they get no reaction there either, they take matters into their own hands and stomp over to him, grab him by the arm and pull him forcibly towards his long-lost sibling. “Hug,” they command.


End file.
